“My sister. She watches me like a hawk.”
“Don’t blame her,” he said softly, and then all of a sudden he asked:
“Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Do you?”
“Well, I didn’t—till to-night, but, by George, I do—now!”
X
I AM not likely to forget that first call of Reginald Bertie upon me. I had thought about nothing else, and, in fact, had been preparing all day.
I fixed over my best dress and curled my hair. I cleaned all of the lower floor of our house, and dusted the parlor and polished up the few bits of furniture, and tried to cover up the worn chairs and horsehair sofa.
Every one of the children had promised to “be good,” and I had bribed them all to keep out of sight.
Nevertheless, when the front doorbell rang that evening, to my horror, I heard the wild, noisy scampering of my two little brothers down the stairs, racing to see which should be the first to open the door; and trotting out from the dining-room right into the hall came Kathleen, aged three, and Violet, four and a half. They had been eating bread and molasses and had smeared it all over their faces and clothes, and they stood staring solemnly at Mr. Bertie as though they had never seen a man before. On the landing above, looking over the banister, and whispering and giggling, were Daisy, Lottie and Nellie.